


The Brighter the Stars

by tortoisegirl



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M, Royalty, Secret Relationship, hybrid troll & human world, princes and peasants in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 18:54:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tortoisegirl/pseuds/tortoisegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karkat the mutantblooded troll servant goes on a secret date with the prince.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Brighter the Stars

The courtyard behind the kitchens, with the night air cooling his skin and the stone of the castle wall at his back, is nice, Karkat thinks. It's rare that he gets a moment like this, to lean back and smell the damp, reedy air blown in off the lake, to gaze over the sea of treetops peeking from the lowlands around the castle. Behind him the bustle and clang of the kitchen is loud as ever even at this hour, still busy with preparations. Muted conversations in mixed English and Alternian drift from unseen night guards (mostly trolls, putting their night vision to efficient use).

It's a good place to sit, and to wait. The chickens in their coop give sleepy clucks, the ornery goat that Karkat's always been fond of gives him the evil eye from across the yard, and a square of light cuts across the ground as a door swings open and a figure emerges from the castle.

Karkat gets to his feet. “Your Highness."

John turns at his voice and beams at the sight of him, bright as the lamplight pouring from the kitchen, bright as the gold accents on his jacket. "Karkat! There you are. I swiped some stuff from the kitchen for us."

“That’s for tomorrow. You know the cook doesn't give a fuck if you're a prince or an oinkbeast rolling in its own shit, he'll skin you alive if he finds out.”

But John just laughs at Karkat’s grousing, blithe as ever. “It’s just a few pastries. You know my father always orders way too much dessert for these things. Stop worrying," he commands, just a little bit princely, "and let's go," and he turns to leave.

Karkat looks over his shoulder to the guard who now stands in front of the door, tall and menacing with his shaded eyes and one hand on his sword, who gives him a nod. _I'm trusting you with him, kid_ , it means, as it's meant every time they've done this, _but I’ll be here waiting either way._ Karkat returns the nod before jogging to catch up with John.

The lake widens into view on their left as they walk downhill away from the castle, as broad and clear as the sky above them, reflecting in its calm surface the moonless night thick with stars. The chirp and hum of crickets and frogs becomes a din as the path takes them close to the water. The sound hits a comforting note somewhere deep in Karkat's troll body, and it relaxes him, enough for him to drift sideways and brush his fingers against John’s wrist. He catches John smiling when he sneaks a sidelong glance his way, and a surge of something warm and pleasant wells up in Karkat's stomach.

They veer to the right without needing to consult each other when the path splits, one fork leading straight on around the lake, and their path swinging up towards a thin patch of trees. They follow it between the treetrunks. They walk a little slower here, partly in deference to John's lack of night vision, and partly because the darkness gives them an excuse to bump shoulders and brush hands, leave light touches on each other as they navigate the brush encroaching on the path. There is no need to rush after all, here in the dark under the trees. 

They walk until the trees part in a wide ring around a large stone structure, so overgrown along its foundation it looks like it simply sprung up among the flora, stone and all — the old stables, abandoned for new ones built a few years ago, left here to the moss and saplings. 

John goes first: hops onto a creaking barrel, grabs the edge of the slanted roof and hooks a boot-toe into a gap in the stone, then grunts as he hauls himself up. Karkat watches from below, glad for his night vision, even more glad for the way the fabric of John's trousers pulls tight against his legs and ass as he climbs. 

“You’re getting better at this,” John observes, legs braced against the shallow incline of the roof, looking vaguely smug as he watches Karkat clamber onto the roof after him. “Or maybe you’re just getting taller. It used to take you five minutes of cursing and threatening to burn this thing down before you'd make it up here.

“It'd be even easier if you'd shut your windhole, John," Karkat growls. "It just means I’m growing into the fearsome troll I’m meant to be. My scrawny past-self will tremble in fear of my current and future physical glory.”

“Don’t I know it!” John laughs as Karkat straightens up with a huff, only to be suddenly pulled against John with a wet, smacking kiss planted on his lips. Karkat shoves him away, but he's suddenly flushed all the way to his horns, and dizzy in an exhilarating way. He hides his smile, after throwing a few choice insults at the grinning prince, by wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

The pastries John brought are sweet flaky things with fruit in the middle, and are—no matter how much John wrinkles his nose at the kitchen's desserts—absolutely delicious. Karkat sits knees-up in the middle of the roof and gladly forgoes his usual habit of bitching about his day to enjoy the buttery treat melting on his tongue, while beside him John takes tiny bites of his own.

“Hey, so," John says, flakes of pastry stuck to his lower lip, "you mentioned growing into a big strong troll and all, and you know, I’ve been thinking.”

“Surprised you haven’t hurt yourself.”

“Oh ha ha, you're so funny.” John gives up on his pastry, having valiantly nibbled away a quarter of it, and hands it over to Karkat to finish. “I’ve been thinking about when we’re older. Dave's likely going to end up being Captain of the Guard, and probably my personal guard once his brother thinks he’s ready for it, but I could make you head Threshecutioner. You’d like that, right?” 

Karkat snorts. “They’d rebel before they let you put a mutant like me in charge. Even though I would lead to them to such glorious, bloodsoaked victories that generations from now people's shame globes would shrivel up out of sheer comparative inadequacy just from hearing about me. Why are you thinking about my future, anyway?”

"Oh...well." John goes quiet. He stares an unfocused stare into the middle distance, and doesn't speak up until Karkat nudges him. “I’m turning seventeen tomorrow,” he says. “My father said he’s going to be giving me more duties, more responsibilities that a grown-up prince should have. And it feels...more real, now, that I’m going to be king one day.”

Karkat understands what John’s looking at now. There are the trees, with their thin canopy of pale spring leaves, and beyond them the lake, and beyond that the thick, old forest that spills off the castle grounds. There are farmlands and villages, manors and cities, thousands of people. His kingdom. John turns to Karkat with a sad smile, which Karkat does not return. “I guess it’s got me thinking. About the future, you know.”

He does know. It is their fate, the two of them; to be pushed apart as they grow older and their worlds expand, until the realities of their assigned roles in the world are oceans between them. It’s always been a fact between them, ever since they were children befriending each other in the castle corridors, ever since they were teenagers kissing behind the kitchens for the first time. As kids they could ignore it as part of a vague and distant future; then, later, when the future was clearer, never mention it in the childish belief that ignoring it will make it a little less real. 

But John is turning seventeen tomorrow—the future is bearing down on them like a meteor from the heavens, huge and unstoppable.

"You’re just thinking of kingship _now_?" Karkat says, lightly, though his stomach feels like lead. "The rest of us have been bracing for it for years. Batten down the fucking hatches, Prince John is expected to be our _leader_.”

The punch in the arm actually makes Karkat wince; he’s not the only one getting bigger and stronger. At least John’s smiling again. John scoots over until their hips touch and straightens his legs in front of him, hands resting on his thighs, and Karkat leans so their arms and shoulders are pressed together too.

“Okay, how about this. What if when I'm king I said you were free to leave our service here and go anywhere you want. I mean, I guess you could technically do that now, it’s not like you owe us anything. But what if you could forget any allegiance you have and go, no questions asked. Would you?”

Karkat considers that. “I might, yeah. I never thought about traveling when I was younger, since it was smarter to stay put where I was safe. I pretty much stayed in one place in Alternia until all these fuckheads started dragging me around, either trying to kill me or trying to get me the hell out of there. Maybe I’d go back. Just to see if it’s anything like I remember, I guess." The insect noise is different here than by the lake, but still loud enough to trigger a low, answering vibration in Karkat's chest. The air is fragrant and full of early spring's chill, and John is very warm beside him. "Or I’d join the Prospitian general forces. They don’t give a shit about blood color as long as you can follow orders and handle a weapon."

“There’s an idea. Then I’d be sure to keep us out of any wars, so you wouldn’t end up dying on the front lines somewhere.”

Karkat turns his head just enough to see John’s face at the edge of his vision. “You wouldn’t mind if I left?”

“Well I’d care, yeah. I’d miss you and all. But,” John shrugs, grinds the heel of his boot against the shingles—feigned indifference to mask sad resignation. “If there's only so much we can do together then you should do what you want.

Karkat suddenly doesn't want to talk about this anymore. Instead he draws a square parcel from his pocket and drops it on John's lap. “Here. Since you’ll be busy dealing with your guests and I’ll be busy being kept as far away from the party as possible, I probably won’t see you tomorrow. Happy birthday, John.”

“Oh, wow!” John exclaims, and before Karkat can tell him not to bother opening it here where it's too dark to see anything John's tearing off the wrappings, like he were turning seven instead of seventeen. It's a book, secondhand and scuffed around the edges. A collection of the adventure stories John likes so much, and unique for having each story in both Alternian and English. It was a bit of an ordeal for Karkat to get his hands on, but even if it hadn't been, he's sure his heart would still swell at the sight of the bucktoothed smile stretching John’s face as he thumbs through the pages. "This is awesome, Karkat, thank you!"

Still grinning, John lies back on the roof with the book an inch from his face, squinting at it as if he could read it right here.

Karkat turns, shingles digging into his knees, and takes it from his hands. Puts it down an arm’s length away, then moves over him until his body covers all of John's like a blanket. He plucks John’s glasses from his face and holds them in one fist, planting his arms on either side of the boy’s head so that all he can see is John, and all John can see is him.

John surges up to meet him for the kiss, then sinks back against the roof, dragging Karkat with him. He hums happily when Karkat scratches at his scalp with his free hand and just barely nicks his lip, which tastes like butter and sugar, with his sharp teeth. The rumble from under Karkat’s ribcage intensifies, and he knows John can feel from the way he smiles against his lips and curls his fingers into Karkat’s sides. He could feel the thump of John’s heartbeat too, so closely are they pressed together, if he weren’t instead so distracted by the machinations of John’s tongue. 

John's hands frame Karkat’s face when they finally pull apart, comb through his hair, pet his cheeks. “One of the things my dad’s planning is for me to take a tour of Prospit. Spend a few months staying with different nobles, visiting towns and villages, seeing the people’s everyday lives. If I can get you a spot in the entourage, would you come?”

It’s a stupid idea. Temptation would be high and privacy would be low. Things could go badly in a million different ways, but Karkat barely has to think about it before he's nodding his agreement. Of course he’ll come.

“And come to the party tomorrow. After the dinner, during the entertainment and dancing. No one will notice.”

“And get smacked into next week by the guards, or the kitchen staff, or anyone else who does catch me.”

“Come ooooon. I'm gonna be stuck being on my best behavior for a bunch of dignitaries who only care that they get to be at a royal party and don't even give a damn about my birthday. I’ll need you to sneak in and save me, even if it’s just so I can see you making faces at them.” He kisses Karkat's cheek, then the side of his mouth. “I'll make it up to you if anyone gives you trouble."

"Fine, I'll see what I can do," Karkat answers, muffled as he hides his face against John's shoulder. He hitches up his knees so he's not so heavy on him, but John brings his arms around his waist like a warm belt and pulls him down again. "You're one pushy little bulgelicker, you know that?" Karkat grumbles, and enjoys the sensation of John's low laughter against his chest. 

Just because he knows what the future will bring doesn't mean he can't cling to John as hard as he can, here and now.

They lie together a little longer but the insects are wrapping up their evening chorus, and all too soon it's time for them to disengage, for John to put on his glasses and tuck his gift in his jacket, for Karkat to help John fingercomb his hair until it doesn't look like such a makeout-tousled mess. For them to slide to the edge of the roof and hop off, landing one after the other. To turn their backs on their dark little glade in its circle of trees.

Karkat holds John’s small hand in his broader, trollish one as long as he dares until the castle, cutting across the broad sky, blotting out the stars with its towers and roofs, finally encroaches on their privacy. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" John whispers, giving one last squeeze to Karkat's hand then letting go. "And thanks. For..." He gestures vaguely, encompassing more than he can say, and Karkat nods in response, encompassing just as much. Karkat hangs back to watch John climb the last stretch of hill to the kitchen courtyard. Watches, with the lake’s breeze pushing at his back, John disappear into the dim light of the castle, the guard shutting the door behind him.


End file.
